They did not die
by TMI Fairy
Summary: "Fixit!AU". It is set just after the battle of the Five Armies. Thorin, Kili and Fili all have survived the battle, although Thorin's hours are numbered. Now new threats and challenges await them, as well as the life bond between a certain brunette Archer-Prince and a lowly-Sylvan elf.
1. In the tent

Bilbo wept as the noble King of the Mountain, now free of his Dragon sickness, bid his farewell. He gave the child of the Gentle West his forgiveness of stealing the Arkenstone and gave his blessing to forge a life on his own. Then the once again noble son of Thrain son of Thror passed away to the Halls of the Maker, leaving the Hobbit sobbing in the tent.

Meanwhile dwarrow healers tended to the princes, Kili and Fili. Their condition was – to borrow a phrase from a different time and place –"critical but stable".

It was darkness over the camps of the victors when a lanky silhouette slipped into the tent now serving both to display Thorin in State and as infirmary for his two nephews. It was cold enough to keep meat from rotting and the frugal dwarrow held such two in one arrangements in high regard, knowing that "waste not, want not" pleased their Maker.

Tauriel seated herself on the side of the cot prepared for Kili. The scant light of the candles around Thorin's head was more than enough for her, the daughter of a People born before the Age of the Sun and wandering Arda under the Starlight. She wiped the sweaty brow of the dwarf which - incredibly - had become so dear to her, that her very will to live depended on his further existence. She gazed upon his pale face, his parted lips making laboured breaths, and could hold herself back no more. She bent down, whispered "yes" in answer to a question asked in Laketown and kissed him on his chapped lips. Then, hearing somebody coming, she jumped like a graceful opossum over the cot and hid in the darkness of the tent's corner.

The scant light of the candles around Thorin's head was more than enough for the Son of Mahal, crafted to work dimly lit mines and quarries. Dain seated himself on the side of Kili's cot and began his "treatment", to be interrupted by a hiss from the darkness:

"What the fuck do you think you are doing, dwarf?"

This startled him but he composed himself enough as to put up resistance when the lithe, well toned and attractive body of the elf-maid slammed him in the chest and instigated a desperate struggle on the floor.


	2. During night, morning, and after

Neither the Dwarf-Lord nor the Red Headed Scourge of Mirkwood cried out for help. Neither of them had any legitimate cause to be in this tent so neither wished to be found under its dooming canvas. Hence their frenetic tumbling and groping on the floor was accompanied solely by unarticulated sounds - grunts, groans, gasps, panting and suchlike. The men from a Mannish patrol passing within earshot gave one another the nudge-nudge, wink-wink, and hurr-hurr – apparently some lucky fellow found a camp follower and was therapeutically attending to his PTSD. They did not investigate, leaving the happy couple – as they saw it – to their own devices.

While Dain was forcing Tauriel's neck into an impossible angle with his well muscled arm, the elleth was pressing her thumb into his eye. Alas, her craft left her bereft of long nails! She had to keep them short and covered with an unbecoming sickly-green varnish enhancing her camouflage. The killer of the Original Azog gave off a stifled yell when his eyeball burst under the pressure of the she-elf's willowy yet steely digit. The pain made him twitch his muscles – and this proved enough to snap Tauriel's neck. Her muffled shriek turned the patrol's heads.

"Exactly like the bards sing – they found release together!" – the brightest and most romantic of the lot sighed with a degree of envy and longing.

"Aye!" - there were wistful nods all around, the warriors slipping into reminiscing about the times they had – or more often had not – lived up to the ideal - so prevalent in song and literature - of lovers always experiencing simultaneous orgasms.

.

Dain hefted his burden by the blood-glued hair and threw it into Thranduil's face. The Elvenking barely caught it - the pale, lifeless face of the late Captain of the Guard made him drop it out of surprise, confusion and revulsion. Tauriel's crudely decapitated head, sawed off with a too-short knife, rolled over the frosty ground to rest next to Legolas' shapely heel clad in light green boots of finest baby-spider leather.

"You sent an assassin to murder the line of Durin, ELF!" Dain roared.

"She killed the princes and almost killed me!" – indeed the Dwarf-Lord bore several flesh wounds, had half his face under a bandage and was missing large portions of beard and hair.

"What says you to this treachery!?" – the once boy-soldier hero of Azanulbizar demanded, under the lifeless eyes of the elleth screaming "lies" to world incapable of hearing her accusation.

The last time the Elvenking had been so flummoxed was almost six thousand years ago, when Ecthelug had accepted his suit of courtship. Having the head of Captain of the Guard thrown into his face had made him forget the White Jewels for a moment. The Jewels he so desperately needed for the elixir which enabled him to perform in the marriage bed just as he had those six thousand years ago. The _naugrim's_ screams and his son's outraged shouts brought him back to the here and now ...

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During the coronation Dain One-Eye Ironfoot silently praised Mahal for putting the she-elf in the tent. She had cost him an eye, that's true, but instead of having to untie the bandages (something which the healers were almost certain to notice) of the nephews of the Crazed One, or having to strangle them with pillows, instead he could slit their throats and blame those wounds on the elleth. Killing them – after he had snapped her neck in the scuffle, at his last strength with a river of blood running from his empty eye socket – was easy, like drowning puppies. Oh, how convenient her presence had been! Surely a Sign! A side benefit was giving them warrior's death, another portent, he was sure. And he even wheedled wergild for the princes out of the Elf – the silly git had taken the blame for the deaths AND paid him good money – all for some worthless semi-precious stones kicked out of the way in the mines! There was Mahal's hand in it all!

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D

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AN:

Naugrim- elfish for dwarf

Evil!Dain is EVIL! – mauahahaha!

The summary is true - the princes survived the BATTLE ...

RomanticLover1 gets a virtual cookie for guessing how the story would go; Toraach does not count as he knows my brain too well :D


End file.
